Deeks, M
by ejzah
Summary: A series of fics that focus on moments throughout Deeks' life. See notes in each chapter for story summaries and lists of characters. New chapter added on 7/13/19.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is the first little story in a series about various moments or points in Deeks' life. I may add some drabbles that I've already posted on Tumblr.

And I just couldn't help myself with the title.

* * *

"Please go to problem number 4, boys and girls. Now, for this addition problem we need to add 5 to 8. Marty, what do you think the answer is?" Marty kept his head down, pretending he hadn't heard. Sometimes if you didn't answer, Mrs. Potter called on somebody else instead. "Martin, please come up to the board," she instructed.

Six year old Marty got to his feet very slowly. He dropped his pencil under his desk and then spent as long as he could kneeling down to pick it up.

"Martin, please stop stalling. You're keeping everyone waiting." Marty glanced up under the cover of his eyelashes; Mrs. Potter was staring at him and although she didn't exactly look mad, she didn't look too happy with him either.

Mrs. Potter was nice and most of the time he liked her, but he didn't like it so much when she made him talk in front of the whole class. When he got to the board, he wrote the problem out as quickly as he could, scrawling out a messy 13 at the bottom in powdery white chalk.

"Thank you, Marty," Mrs. Potter said quietly when he finished. "You can go back to your seat."

* * *

Marty stared down at his hands, avoiding looking at anything as his teacher ushered him and his mom into the empty classroom. He wanted to go sit at his desk near the back of the room, but Mrs. Potter led them over to two chairs pulled up close to her desk.

"Mrs. Deeks, thank you for coming in today," Mrs. Potter started. He wasn't sure why his mom had to come to his school today; he didn't remember doing anything bad but he must have. The good kids' parents never had to come to school.

"Is everything alright?" Roberta asked, getting right to the point, her hands nervously clutching her black purse. "Did something happen with Martin?" Her hand fell on his knee and he twitched once before relaxing under the reassuring pressure.

"No…not exactly. I don't know quite how to put this, Mrs. Deeks." Mrs. Potter sighed. "Does Marty talk to you at home?"

"Of course." his mom responded to the question with a hint of laughter in her voice. "Sometimes I swear he could talk for an hour at a time without taking a breath."

"Really?" Mrs. Potter asked, sounding like she did when she knew Deeks wasn't was telling a lie. "Because here at school, he barely talks at all most days."

"You're kidding me," his mom said.

"No, it's all I can do some days to get him to participate in class. Sometimes I hear him talking to a couple children he's friends with, but he's usually very quiet and he spends a lot of time by himself." Marty hunched over his raised knees, wishing he could curl up even more as he felt his mom's eyes on the top of his head.

"Is that true, baby?" she asked, coming her fingers through his hair. He shrugged. Mrs. Potter made a noise in her throat and Marty heard papers rustling.

"Mrs. Deeks, I'd like to refer your son for a speech therapy evaluation," Mrs. Potter said and her voiced sounded soft like she was telling his mom something really bad. He had no idea what a speech therapy was, but it didn't sound good.

"Speech therapy, whatever for? Martin speaks just fine."

"Well, yes his pronunciation seems just fine and he has age-appropriate grammar, but I think he has difficulty carrying a conversation. It may seem fine to you, but an evaluation will definitely rule out any deficits. Sometimes parents just don't notice these things."

"But Marty doesn't have any deficits," his mom said, starting to sound really upset. "If he did, I'd be glad to get him this therapy, but he talks to me all the time. He tells me stories and asks questions…" She trailed off and Mrs. Potter didn't say anything right away.

There was a really long pause and Marty finally peeked up; Mrs. Potter was giving her a look that made him want to squirm.

"Be that as it may, Mrs. Deeks, I'd still like you to take these papers home and look them over."

* * *

"And then Jacob came out of the bathroom and he had his pants pulled down. He shouted, 'Surprise!' and everybody was laughing expect for Mariah, she thought it was yucky, and Mrs. Potter. She made Jacob go to the principal's office and then I think his mom had to come take him home." Marty paused his story briefly to pull in a much needed breath of air.

Roberta was chopping up vegetables and meat for stew at the counter while he colored at the kitchen table. If Marty had been paying attention, he would have seen her watching him fondly.

"And then you know what happened, mommy?" he asked as he colored a small clown fish.

"Oh, I couldn't begin to imagine," she answered, tossing a handful of seasoning inside the pot she'd filled with beef, carrots, and potatoes.

The phone rang and she hastily wiped her hands on a towel before picking up the receiver. Marty tuned out the conversation, focusing on making the third fish on his picture rainbow colored. He was just looking for an unbroken red crayon when he noticed his mom's voice rise.

He turned around quickly, picture forgotten as Roberts said,

"But I just met with Martin's teacher last month, why do I need to come in again? Has Marty been misbehaving?" His stomach suddenly felt sick.

For the last few weeks, Marty had tried really hard to talk at school. He tried to answer Mrs. Potter whenever she called on him, but sometimes his voice was too quiet and sometimes all that came out was a 'yes' or 'no'.

He didn't know why it happened. It wasn't like he wanted to be bad.

Mrs. Potter always looked worried around him and when she didn't think he was listening, he sometimes heard her talking about him to another teacher. One of the other kids said she took students who couldn't talk right down to the room at the end of the hall and made them say words. That didn't sound so bad to Marty since Mrs. Allen seemed pretty nice, but he didn't think he could talk to her any better than everyone else at school.

Sometimes he wanted to say a whole lot. He wanted to tell everyone about his mom and dad and his favorite toys, but the words got stuck on the way out. Other times he was afraid of what would come out if he did start talking. He didn't want to know what Mrs. Potter's face would look like if he told her about the yelling.

So he kept quiet, even when he didn't want to and now his mom was in trouble again. Marty stared down at his unfinished picture and hoped that Daddy didn't get mad at them too when he found out.

He listened to his mom say goodbye on the phone, saw how sad she was again and decided he needed to do something.

The next day, Marty was nervous all morning while he got ready. He sat on the bus, looking out the window as he practiced the same sentences in his head over and over again. He didn't even have the energy to talk to the older boy who played with him sometimes.

Mrs. Potter was sitting at her desk when he walked into the classroom and looked surprised when he walked right up to her. Usually he stayed in the hallway until she made him come in.

"Mrs. Potter, I'm sorry I don't talk to you like I'm supposed to," he started immediately, the words tumbling out in a rush. Mrs. Potter's mouth popped open a little and when she didn't say anything, he continued. "I promise I'll try really hard. Just please don't make me go to speech cause I think my dad will get really mad. And I don't want him to get mad again." His heart pounded in his chest, filling up his ears with sound as he waited for Mrs. Potter to say something.

"Marty…" she shook her head.

"I promise I won't be bad." Mrs. Potter closed her eyes, her face pinched up like something hurt. Quietly, she grabbed his hands in her and pulled him closer. He was surprised that she didn't look mad at all and even more surprised when she hugged him hard like mom did.

"Marty Deeks, you are never bad. You are a wonderful boy and I'm sorry if I made you feel like you aren't," she said, her voice sounding wobbly at the end. He looked down uncomfortably but Mrs. Potter gently tilted his chin back up. "And I want you to know that if there is ever anything that you want to tell me, I'm always here, but I promise I won't force you to tell me anything ever again. Do you understand?" Marty nodded, even though he wasn't quite sure he did.

"Good, you can go find your seat."

Marty isn't sure what to think but as the day goes on and Mrs. Potter keeps her promise, he thinks maybe he can try talking a little bit more. Just for her.

* * *

A/N: Although I do work with speech students, I'm not entirely sure how students were qualified and treated back in the 1980's in a school setting. I've heard several adults mention having speech when they were kids, but they typically had issues with articulation rather than more complex language deficits.

For anyone who's curious, little Deeks has selective mutism in this story. I also am working with the headcanon that Deeks' dad started being more absent in his son's life at this point.


	2. Checking In

A/N: Sam is worried about Deeks. Set during season 5 while Kensi is in Afghanistan. Expanded from a small drabble I posted on my Tumblr.

* * *

Sam glances up from his computer for a second as he fills out a report from earlier in the week. Deeks is sitting next to him, silent other than the tapping of his fingers on his keyboard and the occasional clearing of his throat. It's just the two of them in the bullpen and while the quiet had been nice at first, the complete silence is starting to grate on his nerves.

As much as he hates to admit it, a quiet Deeks is unnerving. Unnatural.

Sometimes he's thinks he and Callen push him too hard. Hell, he knows they do. It's just too easy, and admittedly, fun to tease him, like the slightly odd, younger brother they never had.

But even Sam can recognize that Deeks has had a lot of low moments recently. Having Kensi stationed in Afghanistan without any means of reliable contact is slowly killing him. He does a pretty good job of hiding behind his typical irreverent jokes and ridiculousness, but no one buys it completely. They all see through to the forlorn detective underneath.

And Sam's not completely convinced Deeks is fully recovered from the torture he'd experienced at the hands of Sidorov. Sam isn't over it himself and he's had a lot more experience with that sort of thing.

The more he thinks about it, the more Sam is convinced that they really need to do something. He's not sure he can completely give up on messing with him, it's just not in his nature, but he can certainly be more supportive.

Nodding to himself, Sam makes a mental note to pull Deeks aside soon for a chat, maybe take him for a burger and a beer. And maybe ask G to take it easy on him for a little while.

* * *

"How you doing, man?" Sam casually asks the next week during a weapons inventory. It's the first time he's had a chance to talk without another member of the team being present. Usually he enjoys his coworkers', but the last few days have shown him just how annoying they can be when he wants a minute of privacy.

Deeks pauses in the middle of cleaning a glock and turns to him with a wary expression. Ok, apparently it wasn't as casual as he'd thought.

"I'm fine. Why?" Deeks responds suspiciously after a moment, his practiced movements pausing briefly before he writes something in the log book between them. Sam shrugs, watching him without stopping his own work. Deeks keeps his head lowered over the book, his damn floppy bangs hanging down into his eyes and mostly obscuring his expression.

"It's just a question. Can't a guy check in with his coworker every so often?" Deeks chuckles and jiggles his pen in a way that somehow simultaneously conveys annoyance and amusement.

"Ok, now you're freaking me out," Deeks says, finally turning to face Sam. When he doesn't laugh along, Deeks frowns. "What's going on? Did something happen to Hetty? Wait, did you hear something about Kensi?" In a second all Deeks' aloofness is gone, replaced by a wave of awkward nervousness and worry. Sam resists the urge to laugh now and smiles reassuringly.

"Everybody's fine," he says, adding, "as far as I know."

"Well, that's good," Deeks mutters, his expression suddenly pensive.

"But getting back on track, I was going to ask if you want to grab a beer and some food this weekend. My treat." Deeks chuckles nervously this time and brushes at his bangs which drift back down a few seconds later.

"Ok, at the risk of sounding redundant, why?" he asks. Sam knows he shouldn't be offended, it's not like he's ever done something like this before, but Deeks' lack of trust bothers him all the same.

"You've been pulling more than your share of the weight around here for the last couple of week and I appreciate it," Sam explains, having thought of an excuse beforehand.

"So you want to show your appreciation with beer and overpriced appetizers" Deeks checks dubiously.

"Yeah."

"Ok, sure, uh, why not. Are Callen and the others coming too?" Sam had considered asking his partner along, but figured that two against one might be a bit much. Not to mention, G hadn't necessarily jumped on board the give-Deeks-a-break train just yet.

"Nah, G. has a training. And I think Eric and Nell mentioned something about D&D," Sam says. Deeks reluctantly agrees, looking mildly apprehensive. He spends the rest of the inventory with his brow furrowed and Sam can guess where his mind is.

* * *

Deeks is already at the bar when Sam arrives late Saturday evening. The place is overcrowded and loud, but Deeks has managed to find a small square table with one side against the wall and within eyesight of all the exits. Sam observes this all with a note of approval.

"Sam," Deeks greets him sardonically as though they didn't just see each other less than two hours ago. There's a half-empty bottle of Sam's favorite imported beer sitting in front of him and another with small beads of condensation dripping down the sides across the table.

"Nice choice," Sam compliments him, gesturing at the table as he sits down.

"So why are we really here?" he asks and Sam can tell immediately that he's dealing with the sarcastic, self-assured version of Deeks. Whatever nervousness the idea of a one-on-one dinner had initially created, is obviously long gone. "The whole coworker appreciation thing is obviously a load of crap."

Deeks waits patiently as Sam thinks things through, his fingers loosely linked, lips pursed, one brow raised.

"I guess I just wanted to check in with you. Make sure you're doing ok," he admits finally. After a beat Deeks says

"I'm doing great. Couldn't be better."

"Really?" Sam asks mildly, keeping his tone light and non-judgmental. When Deeks remains obstinately quiet, he adds, "Because you've been through a lot recently. The torture, Kensi leaving...it all adds up."

"And that's definitely not something I want to talk about with you," Deeks says, huffing out a sarcastic chuckle. He adds a quick smirk to lessen the harshness of his words. Sam has to admit that stings a little; post-Sidorov they'd come to understand each other a bit more, become something more like friends. He'd thought Deeks was truly starting to trust him again.

"Deeks, this isn't some kind of elaborate prank."

"Really? Because just last week you and Callen tricked me into asking Granger out on a date. In Korean." Sam's lips twitch at the memory but he manages to look contrite instead and spreads his hands expansively.

"We went too far, I admit that," Sam acknowledges.

"Then why'd you do it?"

"I guess the short answer is because we can kind of be jerks sometimes." Deeks laughs outright at that, snorting a bit of beer. He wipes his hand over his nose, revealing the first genuine smile of the night.

"Wow, well that's definitely an understatement but I guess baby steps are progress," Deeks jokes.

"Shut up," Sam says without any heat. He's not here to defend his own behavior and maybe owning up to it, will make the bond between them a little stronger. He waits for Deeks to finish his beer, gesturing to a passing waiter for two more, and then reiterates his earlier statement. "Seriously though. I'm concerned about you. You've been through a hell of a lot of crap without that much support."

"I don't see you having long heart to hearts with Callen or calling in Nate for an emergency session, so what makes me different? Why is everyone so worried about me and not you?" Deeks asks. Although he'd started out sounding mildly interested, by the end he sounds incredibly bitter. Absentmindedly he begins peeling the label off his beer. Deeks always had a lot of nervous energy, but Sam's noticed a definite increase in the last few months.

"Don't tell anyone I said this, especially G cause he'll never let me live it down, but maybe I'm not the guy people should always try to emulate. Maybe I make poor decisions sometimes. And maybe I could use a little help too," Sam says, keeping his eyes on Deeks even though his head is lowered.

Deeks is silent for several minutes, diligently turning the beer label into confetti. The waiter returns with their beers and a basket of chips. Sam has turned his napkin into a flimsy giraffe when Deeks finally starts to speak, his voice slightly rougher than normal.

"What if I told you that I still wake up screaming some nights? That I can't even think about going to the dentist without feeling nauseous. Or sometimes it's all I can do not to keep it together when I hear a high-pitched noise. What would you say to that? " He keeps his gaze on his mindless task until the very end when he suddenly looks up, purposely catching Sam's eye. There's a lot of pain there and Sam sighs quietly, realizing that Deeks is far better actor than any of them give him credit for.

"I'd say you're not alone," Sam tells him quietly.

"Yeah right."

"I'm telling the truth, Deeks. I still have nightmares, I still have fear and anxiety," he says, shrugging as he admits something that he typically denies adamantly. "As much as I might like to pretend that I can just push all those feelings, those memories, in a handy little box and tie it up with a nice neat bow..." he shrugs again and swallows down the rest of his beer. "It's still there."

Deeks snorts again, pressing the bottle between his palms. Little bits of shredded paper litter the table top, but Sam doesn't say anything.

"I don't know if that's reassuring or terrifying," Deeks says, a hint of humor in his voice and something that sounds oddly like gratitude. "You're supposed to be invincible. It's like finding out that Superman can be killed by kryptonite.

"I don't know how Kensi puts up with you full-time," Sam comments, avoiding the couched compliment. Deeks eyebrows narrow minutely before he relaxes his expression. It hasn't escaped Sam's notice that Deeks has completely avoided the topic of Kensi so far, but he doesn't press. It's enough that he's opened up this much.

"So how do we deal with it?" Deeks asks eventually. "Like I told Nate, I've had bad crap happen to me, but nobody's ever stuck a decrepit power drill in my mouth before. How do I get past that?" Sam winces slightly at Deeks' description, not needing the reminder of the high pitched whine of a drill mixed with agonized screams.

"Damned if I know," he answers honestly. "but if I ever find out I'll be sure to let you know. And until then, I've always got an open ear." Deeks' mouth stretches into a mischievous grin.

"Do you take couples too, because I know these two guys..."

"You are such an idiot." Sam shakes his head again, but can't quite hide his smile. This feels normal, right, he thinks. "I meant what I said. All of it," he reiterates.

"Thanks, man," Deeks mutters, sounding strangely embarrassed. He shakes his hair out of his eyes again and adds, "And if Mr. I'm a Navy Seal, I Can Dismantle Bombs with One Arm Tied Behind my Back ever feels like talking, I don't have a lot going on right now."

"I'll keep that in mind," Sam says, tilting his beer towards Deeks. "To friends?" Deeks stares him down for a second and then clinks his own bottle against Sam's.

"To friends," he agrees.


	3. Loquacious

A/N: I should preface this fic by saying that I was homeschooled growing up, so even though I work in a public school now I still have no idea how these things really work(ed). So let's just imagine this makes sense.

Takes place when Deeks was in school. I take some liberties with his backstory, as usual.

* * *

Marty shifted in his chair, his foot tapping incessantly against the scuffed linoleum. He'd been waiting outside Principal Jacek's office for 15 minutes now and his nerves were getting the best of him. Not that he'd admit it to anyone. Keeping this in mind, Marty made a concerted effort to stop tapping and appear completely unaffected.

It lasted for all of ten seconds before his leg started jiggling, seemingly of its own volition.

In his two and half years at Reseda High, Marty had experienced his fair share of meetings with the principal, but it was hardly a typical thing and recently he'd kept himself out of trouble. Well, most trouble; he wasn't a saint.

He honestly wondered what it was this time. Maybe he'd actually flunked something-it would be a first for him. And his mom would kill him.

"Martin, Mr. Jacek will see you now," the secretary, Ms. Davis said, interrupting his troubled thoughts and he straightened up immediately before remembering himself. He took a calming breath and slowly walked past Ms. Davis and into the office.

Mr. Jacek smiled up from his desk as Marty walked in. He though there was a hint of something not altogether welcoming in his expression. Maybe rueful was the word. When Marty lingered just inside the doorway, the principal gestured to the chair placed directly in front of his desk.

It was one of those hard metal ones with the shabby red padding that cushioned absolutely nothing and always made his butt ache. At least this one didn't have weird stains like the ones in the library did.

"So Martin," Principal Jacek began, lingering on his name and still wearing that grim smile. "I assume you know why you're here." Marty lifted his chin and stared back as boldly as he dared.

"Actually no, I don't," he admitted. He didn't think it was in his best interest to bring up his grades, even if he suspected that was the issue. That would be like admitting guilt and you never, ever did that.

One of Jacek's bushy eyebrows arched dubiously and he stared at Marty for a few seconds. Then silently, he selected a file from the stack by his elbow and set it in the middle of the desk. He tapped his fingers on the cover a few times before responding.

"As you know, report cards are going home this weekend. Several of your teachers had additional comments that they believe need to be addressed. Now while I will be speaking with your mother as well, I think it is important that you see them first." For once Marty said nothing, trying to look composed even if he didn't feel it.

When the silence extended past the point of comfort, Principal Jacek slid the file over to Marty's side of the desk with the tips of his fingers. He nodded, leaning back in his chair and crossing his right leg over his other knee as Marty gingerly opened the folder. He pulled in a deep breath and began reading

"_Martin Deeks' grades are excellent, but he takes an almost fiendish glee in dominating debates. At times I am both amused and horrified, a frequent dilemma with this student_." – Mrs. French

"_A+ for coursework. A very creative writer who has a good command of language and grammar. Lack of focus and hyperactivity is problematic. Marty tends to chat with the other students and tell jokes when he has finished his assignments. His grades remain high but his behavior is distracting. _– Mrs. Jiminski

"_Although Martin Deeks currently has a B in math, he is very hyperactive and easily distracted. He is constantly moving and talking. I believe he would have better grades if he had an ounce of self-control." _– Mr. Richten

"_What Marty lacks in technical skill, he makes up for with spirit. I enjoy having him in my art class." _– Ms. Schneider

"_Adequate participation. Lab work could be better. Prefers hands on tasks. Grade for this quarter: B+." _– Mr. Arthur Johnson

"_Marty Deeks is a talented musician. I have seen a great improvement in his abilities this year and look forward to working with him in the future." _– Mrs. Landers

Marty finished reading through the last comment and kept his head lowered. Well, at least it had ended on a semi-positive note. Mrs. Landers was always encouraging and seemed to actually enjoy giving him violin lessons, unlike several of his other teachers, who barely tolerated him at best.

Clearing his throat noisily, he slid the paper across the desk with a sharp movement.

"So I guess I'm not flunking out," Marty summed up wryly, shaking his bangs out of his eyes. He'd let his hair grow out past his ears this year, the longest it had ever been. It served the dual purpose of making him look slightly older and annoying Mr. Richten who thought he was a grunge-loving, weed-smoking degenerate.

Mr. Jacek sighed heavily.

"Martin, this is not a laughing matter. Yes, your grades are good, but your behavior in class...it's concerning."

"I didn't know having a sense of humor was a problem." Jacek smiled tiredly and took his glasses off, rubbing at the bridge of his long nose. Then adopting a serious expression, he said,

"Martin, I know you've had difficulties in the past. You've gotten in your fair share of trouble, which I won't go into, and I'm glad that you seem to have put that all behind you. However, your current conduct is worrying.

"I showed you these notes from your teachers, not to demean you, but to show you how dire things currently are." Marty remained silent. He was used to people looking at him and judging him. He was used to teachers using his past to turn him into some kind of juvenile delinquent. This new list of complaints was nothing new, even if it did make his stomach clench uncomfortably.

"Really? Last time I checked, straight A's and B's will get you into college. Maybe not Yale or Harvard, but I'm not greedy. I'll settle for a state university," Marty said, going for flippant. He thought he'd done a pretty good job, But Jacek smiled ruefully and lowered his chin onto his steepled fingers.

"As I said, you are a very bright, intelligent student and I would hope you will have many opportunities available to you. Your abilities aren't the issue, though, Martin. Your relationship with the very teachers and authority figures who will provide references for you-references which may very well mean the difference between acceptance and rejection-is the problem. To them you appear disrespectful and willful."

Marty avoided Jacek's eyes for a moment, fiddling with his the frayed edges of his chair. When put like that, it sounded pretty terrible and he felt an unexpected wave of shame.

"Martin, I know you have expressed an interest in studying law. It's a highly competitive field and a collection of negative comments from your teachers and mentors will do you no favors."

Marty considered making another smart ass remark and he might have if his stomach wasn't becoming increasingly tight and uneasy. He had been thinking of studying law, or something in that realm, and Jacek was right. Any of the good schools weren't just looking for grades. With his past he'd be lucky if a college board even gave his application a second look.

And he could only imagine how disappointed his mom would be. With that though in mind, all his resistance seemed to evaporate.

"Ok, then what do you want me to do?" he asked flatly. Jacek folded his long fingers together and looked mildly pleased by the question.

"Stop trying to be so rebellious. You don't need to be cracking jokes and bucking authority all the time. Show that you have the ability to stay on task, keep the chatter to a minimum. In short, be respectful. I know you have it in you." Jacek suggested, then with a quick look at Marty's appearance added, "Maybe get a haircut. I'm sure you could look quite respectable with a little grooming."

"I'll try, Sir," he said quietly, feeling distinctly subdued. Jacek nodded again, apparently pleased by his efforts and started to gather the papers together.

"Then I think we're done here, Martin." Marty stood up quickly, taking the dismissal for what it was, and eager to leave. He hesitated at the door though and after a moment of consideration asked,

"I guess there's no chance you won't send those comments home, right? I mean, my mom will just worry about me and I don't like to see her upset." Jacek chuckled and actually smiled this time.

"Maybe I can edit them down to a more palatable version," he said with a knowing look in his eyes. "Heaven forbid we upset your mother." Marty nodded in appreciation and left the office.

He would do his best to control himself and ingratiate himself with his teachers, but there was no way in hell he was going to cut his hair. Slightly cheered up by the thought, Marty idly wondered what he'd look like with a ponytail, as he walked down to his 4th period class.

* * *

A/N: I just want to note that it probably is unlikely that a principal would actually make a student read comments like that, but let's remember this is for entertainment purposes. Logic and protocol be damned, angst and drama must live on!

Also, Reseda High appear to be a charter school, but I'm sticking with it because I don't remember if Deeks' actual school was ever mentioned.


	4. Silence

A/N: some angst with a side of passive aggressive, teenage Deeks. Or alternatively Deeks takes his mom a bit too seriously. Pre-NCIS again. Fulfills another one of my indulgent headcanons.

* * *

"Martin, did you threaten to beat up Mr. Fetterman?" Roberta Deeks demanded as she marched up to Marty. He was mid-way through mowing the lawn of the small apartment they rented and was coated in bits of grass that had clung to his sweaty skin.

Marty felt a look of guilt flash over his face before he managed control his features and calmly replied,

"Nope." Technically, he hadn't.

"Fine," Roberta said, the sarcasm clear in her tone. "Did you tell him that you would 'make him regret being a worthless piece of crap'?"

"I might have."

"Martin! Why on earth would you do that?" she asked incredulously.

"Oh I don't know, Mom, maybe because he's a worthless piece of crap," he shot back snarkily. He picked up a nearby rake and started gathering a pile of grass together with a lot more aggression that was necessary for the task.

Roberta threw her hands in the air and made a frustrated noise.

"And he also happens to be our landlord. Did it occur to you that he could kick us out for this? And then where would we go?" Marty ignored another twinge of guilt as Roberta began to get louder and more hysterical. He'd had a good reason for what he did and he wasn't about to back down just because Fetterman held a position of power in their lives.

"Legally he couldn't kick us out. And even if he did, he'd have to give us notice and time to find a new place," he explained with what he thought was a fair amount of logic. Roberta shook her, apparently unable to speak for the moment. "He had it coming," Marty reasserted more quietly.

"Oh Marty, why can't you just be quiet for once?" she snapped, massaging the bridge of her nose with her eyes closed. He stilled immediately at her words and quietly asked,

"You want me to stop talking?" Caught up in her frustration and worry, Roberta didn't notice the sudden change in his demeanor and his pissed off expression, hiding hurt beneath.

"It would certainly make a nice change." Marty nodded and started raking again, this time at a more reasonable pace.

"Fine," he said shortly, turning his back on his mom. He ignored the annoyance practically radiating from her until she finally gave up and turned around, muttering to herself the whole way back to the house.

* * *

No one could ever say that Martin A. Deeks did things in halves. Following their argument, he was quiet and avoided his mom until she finally went to bed. He continued this pattern, talking little and keeping to himself for the next two days. Roberta treated this behavior the way most parents would when dealing with a moody teenager and ignored it.

Apparently she thought he'd give in and talk to her eventually, but Marty had been raised on stubborn and he could go toe-to-toe with his mom any day. If she wanted silence, he would give it to her.

His mom was far from the first person to make the suggestion; several of his teachers had made "Martin, stop talking' a part of their daily mantra. Marty knew he talked too much sometimes or at the very least, at the wrong times like with Mr. Fetterman. But he'd never expected Roberta to be so brutal about it.

The hypocrisy of it all stung and every time he came close to giving in, he'd remember the anger and genuine hurt he'd felt. It was isolating and Marty found himself spending a lot of time alone in his room or surfing. Even his friends didn't improve his mood and they were starting to get sick of his moodiness.

"Martin, have you heard anything from the colleges you applied to?" Roberta asked one night two weeks after the 'incident'. His mom had been working overtime recently so they were eating dinner together for the first time in several days.

Instead of answering, Marty got up and went to his room, returning with several packets of pamphlets and brochures. He handed it to her without a word and started picking at his baked pork chop again.

Roberta huffed out an annoyed sound but began sorting through the materials anyway.

"When are you supposed to hear back?" Marty grabbed a pen from the other side of the table and scrawled 'June or July' on one of the less brightly colored pamphlets.

"Seriously, Martin? I don't know what's going on but you can stop it right now," she said with another roll of her eyes. He stood up abruptly, surprising both of them at the suppressed anger contained in the simple gesture. Roberta started to speak again, but her words trailed off as he glared at her.

This time when she spoke her voice was hesitant,

"Marty?" She sounded nervous and upset. Marty had never been this disrespectful towards her in his life, even in the height of adolescence, and he felt that ever present underlying guilt rear its head.

Before he could give in and start talkiing, he left the room.

He'd been lying on his bed in the same position for roughly two hours when there was a hesitant knock on his door. Stalking to the door, he jerked it open and rested his hip against the frame. Roberta looked warily at him and then cleared her throat.

"Martin, I realize you're angry with me, I don't know why, but whatever you think I've done wrong there must be a better way to deal with. I mean, c'mon not talking to me? I thought you were more mature than that." Despite himself, Marty instantly bristled and muttered,

"I thought you liked it better when I wasn't talking." He was surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded, even if he hadn't said anything for the better part of 24 hours.

"What the hell does that mean?" Roberta asked, concern giving way to annoyance.

"'Why can't you just be quiet for once'," he recited, managing a fair impersonation of his mother. "I thought it was a valid request."

"I don't know..." she started to say and then her face changed as she obviously remembered. "Oh my god! Marty, don't tell me you took that seriously?"

He felt a small amount of pleasure in her distress.

"It sounded pretty genuine to me."

"I was mad. I say a lot of things I don't mean when I'm mad and by now you should know that," she said and Marty suddenly was unable to look her in the eye. He felt incredibly childish and stupid and within a few seconds a dull flush was creeping up his neck.

"Hey," Roberta said, her voice softer now. She gently tilted his chin up, forcing him to look at her. "I'm sorry if I made you feel bad, honey. Even though I was annoyed right then, I didn't mean what I said." After a moment, Marty cleared his throat and awkwardly added,

"Sorry I called Mr. Fetterman a worthless piece of crap."

"You never told me why you said those things to him," Roberta pointed out and he sighed.

"I was walking to my basketball practice and I heard Mr. Fetterman shouting at Jessica Werner down the block. When I got closer I heard him saying something about extra rent and Jessica owing him money. She said she didn't and then he told her if she didn't give him the money, he'd kick her out and call social services on her and have Jake taken awake." He chanced a glance at his mom. She was frowning; he couldn't tell if it in reaction to the story or his response.

"Anyway, Jessica was crying, Jake was crying. Mr. Fetterman was grinning like it was the best thing ever and just kept shouting terrible things and I...I snapped I guess."

"Oh Martin…" his mom sighed with a mixture of exasperation and understanding. Again, a combination he was used to hearing.

"I know, I probably could have handled it better," he admitted, even though he wasn't sure what way that would be.

"You're going to college next year and you need to start thinking about what you say. People aren't going let you get away with this kind of thing forever.

"So you want me to just ignore it when I see people doing terrible stuff?"

"No, of course not, but just use a little self-control once in a while."

"This coming from the woman who once cussed out a lady who cut her off in line at the grocery store? You're not exactly the poster child for self-control, Mom."

"Hey, show some respect. And I did not cuss that woman out, I merely gave her a lesson on store etiquette."

"Sure, mom," Marty said, rolling his eyes. He felt remarkably lighter, just from having finally talked. He also felt pretty stupid for being so dramatic. Unfortunately, his mom didn't seem ready to move on yet.

"I'm serious, Martin." She placed her hand on his cheek when he sighed again. "You're a smart kid, you've got so much going for you. I don't want you to lose out on opportunities because of what you say. I'm a lost cause now–"

"Mom," he protested, but she cut him off with a firm smile.

"No, it's true," she insisted. "This is who I am, but you, Marty, you can still change what people think about you." Marty scratched the back of his head and looked away for a moment, once again feeling uncomfortable.

"I don't know if I can do that, Mom," he told her honestly. "I don't know if I can stop myself from saying something, or how I say it, just to keep people happy. It feels dishonest and not like me." Roberta let out a tired chuckle and patted his cheek.

"I know, baby. And I love that about you. I just want to make sure you're careful and realize that your actions do have more consequences than you always know."

"I know and I'll try to stay out of trouble."

"That's all I can ask," she said, still smiling in a not entirely happy way. She started to leave the room but paused in the doorway. "By the way, I want you to know I'm proud of you for stepping in when Mr. Fetterman was harassing Jessica, even if I don't approve of how you went about it."

"Thanks mom," he muttered as she wrapped her arms around him, her head easily fitting under his chin.

"Oh, kiddo," she sighed. "It's good to hear your voice again."

* * *

A/N: I seem to be on a Deeks talking, or not talking as the case may be, kick.


	5. White Knight

A/N: This is another teenage Deeks story.

* * *

Marty pressed the ice pack against his bottom lip and leaned forward, head hanging between his knees. Someone inside the nurse's office dropped something that made a crashing sound.

It had been a toss-up between sending him to the principal or the nurse. In the end, the blood dripping down his chin had made the decision and he'd been spared for the time being.

"Martin? Marty, oh my god, what happened?!" Roberta Deeks asked a few minutes later as she rushed into the room, breaking the moment of peace. Before he could say anything, she was in front of him, checking his lip and brushing away his hair to look for other signs of injury.

"I'm fine mom," he insisted, his words only very slightly distorted by his swollen lip.

"The secretary wouldn't tell me anything, but she said the principal needed to talk to both of us." His mother shook her head. "Believe me, whoever did this to you, will wish they never laid a hand on you."

"I'm the one who threw the first punch," Marty told her, not able to meet her eyes. She gasped and he could feel her shock. He didn't need to look to know she was disappointed too.

"Marty, why would you do something like that?" she whispered. "How many times have I told you not to pick fights? Oh, this is because of that boy, Ray. I knew I shouldn't let you two spend time together. He's nothing but a troublemaker"

"It's not because of Ray. I know you always told me that violence doesn't solve anything, but I had a good reason," he explained.

"What could possibly be a good reason for hitting someone? I thought you of all people would know better." His mom sighed and sat down beside him, everything about her radiating disappointment. Marty swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat. A part of him felt like not explaining anything else and letting his mom, the principal and whoever else got involved, believe what they wanted.

"It was Jake," he muttered after a couple minutes. "Jake Makowski. He called Elena a…he called her something nasty." He turned to his mom, hoping to find some type of understanding. She did look slightly less disappointed, but also exasperated.

"Honey, kids call each other names all the time. It's a part of life. You just got to live with it," she said, a little sadness in her voice. Marty had a few names he could think of calling Jason and he deserved every one of them.

"He called Elena a whore because she asked me to the spring dance." His voice trembled slightly as he remembered the moment, the rage that had come over him. Roberta, tilted her head at him and said,

"Hold on a second, is this the same Elena you've been hung up on all year?" He nodded. "You said she had a boyfriend. I'm guessing that's Jason?"

"They're not dating anymore," Marty told her firmly. "They broke up and then Elena asked me to the dance. I didn't do anything wrong."

"Calm down Sweetie, I'm not judging you," she assured him, laying a hand over his. "I'm just trying to understand what happened. Did Jason know they'd broken up?" Marty snorted.

"He should have. He cheated on Elena and when she found out she broke up with him. But I guess he didn't agree with her decision," he said, bitterness filling his voice.

"Well, sometimes kids get excited. Teenage romance is a tricky thing and–" Marty stood up abruptly, amazed that she was trying to defend a jerk like Jason.

"Mom, he grabbed her arm and started dragging her away when she said we were going to the dance," he said and his mom's face paled. "That's when I hit him. I wasn't about to let him hurt her. I don't care if I get expelled or whatever they decide to do with me." It was a hasty statement, but he realized he meant it.

He threw himself back into his seat, waiting for further condemnation. His mom let out a shaky sigh and patted his hand, ending it with a squeeze.

"Marty," she said sadly. "I don't know what to say."

"I'm sorry I disappointed you and that you had to leave work to come down here." He didn't regret his actions, but he'd never wanted to upset his mom. She had enough to deal with without him causing her more stress. He looked down at his knees, not wanting to see the disappointment in her eyes.

He was surprised when Roberta's arms wrapped tightly around him and his face was suddenly pressed into her shoulder. It wasn't exactly the most comfortable with their height difference, but it was comforting.

"Oh Honey, I'm not disappointed in you," she whispered and he felt something wet hit his hand. "I know you were just trying to do the right thing" Marty lifted his head, eyes widening in surprise and she ran her thumb across her cheek. "And I am so proud of you for up standing for your friend."

"Thanks mom," he muttered, the lump coming back to his throat and feeling tears pricking at the back of his eyes. She squeezed him even tighter and said,

"You're a good boy, Marty."


	6. Disillusioned

A/N: Features young Lawyer Deeks.

* * *

"So how was work?" Roberta asked as she placed a steaming plate of lasagna in front of her son. Deeks stabbed his fork into the slice, glaring at the slab of cheese and noodles, covered in sauce.

"Miserable," he answered. Sitting down across from him, his mom put a serving of salad on her plate and then offered him the bowl. He shook his head, brooding over his plate. She chuckled, clearing not picking up on his bad mood yet.

"You say that every time I see you."

"That's because every day is miserable. I swear all I do is get criminals out of jail." He sighed and shoved a forkful of lasagna in his mouth, even though he wasn't particularly hungry. The last two times he'd been over for their weekly dinner, he hadn't eaten and Roberta had been first worried, then offended once he assured her he was fine. It was much easier just to eat, especially since it was usually his favorite and he knew how much effort she'd put into making it.

"The world's not perfect, Sweetie. You know that," she offered, which was her typical maxim and one Deeks was getting fairly sick of.

"Maybe it isn't, but I'm getting really tired of having to defend the bad guys all the time. I went into law thinking I would be actually helping people. Instead, I just got a drug dealer off on time served because there was an issue with the chain of evidence. And I can't refuse to defend these guys because it's literally my job to provide the best counsel and defense possible, regardless of what they've done," Deeks complained, not for the first time.

From the beginning, he had no illusions about how unfair and terrible the world of law could be. Both he and his mom had experienced that first hand dealing with the aftermath of him shooting his dad. But, he'd thought he could actually make a difference. Maybe change things, even if it was just a little bit.

"You're still doing a good thing, Marty," Roberta insisted, reaching out to hold his hand. "Think of that woman you told me about last month. You know, the prostitute. Didn't you get her a reduced sentence or something?"

Deeks let out a long sigh at that and chuckled bitterly.

"Yup, I got her a reduced sentence. And then two days after she was released, somebody killed her. The police figure it was probably whoever she was working for, but of course they can't prove it."

"Oh," Roberta whispered. "I'm sorry, Honey." He sighed again and pushed his mostly full plate to the center of the table. The thought of eating anything else made him slightly nauseous.

"She was only a couple years older than me." He remembered how she'd tried to seem tough when he first introduced himself, but after a couple minutes had started crying. "And she had a little brother she hadn't seen in years."

"It's not your fault." Deeks looked up at Roberta, his anger at the situation leaking out.

"Well it certainly wasn't hers. No matter what she did, she did not deserve to be killed," he said fiercely. His mom looked shocked at the anger in his voice and then she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I never said she did," she said quietly. "I think it's horrible. But I don't see that there's anything you can do."

He was quiet for a couple minutes and then voiced something that had been on his mind for months.

"Maybe this isn't the right job for me." Every day, he hated himself, and the world, a little more. He hated defending rapists, killers, and drug dealers. The first time he'd been handed a domestic abuse case-with him defending the abuser of course-he'd nearly punched something. Naturally, he'd kept those cases to himself.

Sure, he also had his share of cases where the defendant wasn't a terrible person. Sometimes they weren't even guilty. But it didn't make up for all the other ones. The ones that ate at his soul.

"Well, now that you're established, maybe you can get a position with a firm or something." He could let her believe that's what he meant and keep the piece a little longer, but he hated lying to her.

"No, mom, I mean I don't think I want to be a lawyer at all," he told her. She stared at him in disbelief for a moment and then shook her head.

"But you've worked so hard for this. For years all you talked about was becoming a lawyer so you could help people like us," she reminded him desperately.

"Yeah, but that doesn't seem to be working, does it?"

"What would you do instead?" She sounded completely rattled, even more than he had expected.

"I don't know," he said, trying to sound casual. "Maybe I'll become a cop." His mom stood up abruptly.

"No," Roberta said firmly. "No, that's not funny, Martin."

"I'm not joking, mom. I would be able to help a lot of people, way before they ever got to court. And I could make sure that everything's done correctly, so criminals don't get let out on technicalities."

"No, it is too dangerous. After all we have been through, I will not let you put your life at risk every day." He started to object, but she shook her head and repeated. "No." There was a slightly manic, panicked gleam in her eye. Before he could respond, she snatched up their still-full plates and left the room.

Sighing, Deeks pressed his palms against his eyes, guiltily thinking of the LAPD application on his bedside table at home.

* * *

A/N: Most of my lawyer knowledge comes from a few quick google searches and Boston Legal re-runs.


End file.
